


The Waking

by supergirrl



Series: Missandei Dragonspeaker [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Daenerys Resurrection Week, F/M, Gen, Missandei is a dragonrider, POV Missandei (ASoIaF), no one can tell me otherwise, this is canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:33:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27116143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supergirrl/pseuds/supergirrl
Summary: After narrowly surviving an assassination attempt, Missandei witnesses Daenerys Targaryen, murdered at the Battle of Winterfell, rise from her funeral pyre, and together they will continue to remake the world.
Relationships: Grey Worm/Missandei, Missandei & Daenerys Targaryen
Series: Missandei Dragonspeaker [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956901
Comments: 105
Kudos: 121





	1. Burn with me

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you so much to everyone who enjoyed The Fire It Ignites, the first story in what I have affectionately nicknamed the Missandei Cinematic Universe (my own personal MCU). If you haven't read that, I would recommend you check it out first, as this is a direct sequel and won't make any sense otherwise. 
> 
> I am interested in commissioning art for this series, so if any of you lovely readers know any talented artists (or are artists yourselves), please let me know!
> 
> I am planning on this fic having three chapters and at least one more multi chapter story in this series, so please let me know if you have any feedback or ideas about things you would like to see! Enjoy!

For a moment all Missandei could do was stare as jubilant chaos erupted around her.

People were screaming in adulation and shock, even the normally stoic Unsullied, and they resumed clattering their spears against the ground and calling out prayers. Many were falling to their knees or pressing their faces to the earth in reverence, even some Dothraki, who were usually loathe to dismount. Vorri, who had remained mounted, was riding back and forth before the _khalasar_ , yelling, “The stallion! The stallion! The stallion rides again!”

Beside her, Grey Worm was similarly speechless, smiling even as he wept, and Missandei wanted to laugh and cry and dance and thank all the gods she didn’t believe in. 

She did not know why or how, but her dearest friend, her sister in spirit if not blood, was _alive_.

Then all three dragons took to the sky, meeting in midair with joyous calls, and Daenerys started towards her people, walking at first and then breaking into a run, and Missandei found herself running out to meet her.

Joy, heady and powerful, surged through her, as well as relief and excitement and confusion and so many other feelings Missandei could not identify.

By the time they crashed into each other’s arms, they were both sobbing. Even through the intense emotions she was experiencing, Missandei noticed how _warm_ Daenerys felt in her arms. She had always seemed warmer than other people, but now she seemed to radiate heat like one of her sons.

Despite the thick soles of her boots, Missandei felt the scorching heat of the earth as she stood among the remnants of the pyre. Yet Daenerys was barefoot on the still-smoldering ground, apparently as unaffected by the embers as she was by the frigid wind blowing across the plain.

They swayed on the spot, and Daenerys took Missandei’s face in trembling hands, as if trying to reassure herself that she was real.

Through tears she asked, “Oh, Missandei, Missandei. Are you alright? You and Rhaegal, you are both unharmed?” 

Daenerys pulled back then looked her up and down, as if inspecting her for damage, and Missandei giggled at the absurdity of it. A woman three days dead climbed out of her funeral pyre, alive and well, and all she was concerned about was the wellbeing of others.

“Daenerys, I am fine. Rhaegal is too. But you were _dead_. You were dead for three days, and now you’re…not. Viserion was gone even longer and he’s alive too. How? Am I dreaming? It should be impossible, and yet-”

Her friend nodded. “I know. But I promise you, I am here, and this is no dream.”

The dragons landed around them and crowded near, eager for their mother’s attention. Their joyous cries filled the air, and Daenerys gave a teary little laugh as she tried to give all three of them equal love, dropping kisses on their great scaly faces. Viserion bumped Missandei gently with his nose, and she stroked his head, scratching between his eyes the way he had liked since he was small enough to sit in her lap. He rumbled with contentment, and she began to weep anew. Sweet, affectionate Viserion, who was so cruelly ripped from his family by the Night King’s malice and Tyrion’s foolish plans, had been miraculously returned to them, and somehow his gentle nature had survived his violent death. 

Daenerys’s face was pressed against Drogon’s cheek, and even in the dim light Missandei could see the tears running down her face turn to steam-though whether from the heat of the dragon or Daenerys herself, she could not be sure.

Viserion pulled away from Missandei, moving back to his mother and nuzzling her. She turned towards him and wrapped her arms around his head, embracing him as best she could, while Drogon leaned fondly against his brother. Apparently not wanting to be left out, Rhaegal nudged Missandei, and she murmured to him in Valyrian, reveling in the sense of rightness, of completion, that washed over her.

“Dany! Dany!” Jon Snow’s voice cut through the tender reverie of their reunion, and Missandei turned to see him running towards them, his joy evident. She looked back towards Daenerys, expecting her to go to him, or at least respond.

But when she looked back to her friend, she was still, seemingly frozen in place. All the happiness was gone from her face, replaced by some strange combination of grief, anger, and…fear? Her expression was utterly alien, something Missandei had never seen before, not when Ser Barristan or Viserion were murdered, not when their allies were lost through Tyrion’s poor strategies.

The dragons sensed it too, all three of them fixing their gazes upon him and tracking his movements with steely intensity, and Drogon growled.

Jon stopped in his tracks, clearly aware that he was not to receive a warm welcome. Or perhaps, if the dragons had their way, _too_ warm a welcome.

“Dany?” He asked, hesitant now.

Daenerys was gazing at Viserion as she stroked his face, and although she did not look at Jon, she also seemed reluctant to turn her back on him.

She shook her head, just once, and when she spoke her voice was cold, all the happiness from just a moment earlier utterly vanished.

“I have nothing to say to you, Jon Snow.”

In any other circumstance, Missandei might have felt empathy for the man and his utterly heartbroken expression, but any sympathy she held for Jon Snow-or nearly anyone else in Westeros, for that matter-had died somewhere between Daenerys’s murder and her own attempted assassination. 

Missandei stepped forward, putting herself between her friend and the man she’d died for, and the dragons closed around their mother, shielding her from Jon’s view. She was not afraid of Jon, not with the dragons and Grey Worm and all their forces at her back, but for whatever reason Daenerys did fear him, and she was not going to lose her friend again.

Apparently less intimidated by her than the dragons, he came closer and asked pleadingly, “Missandei, tell the dragons to let me through, _please_ , they’ll listen to you, and I need to go to her-need to be with her-”

Even her elation could not hold back Missandei’s censure. She did not raise her voice but her fury was evident as she cut into him with sharp words.

“You _need_ to be with her? Why now? What did you do when your sister insulted and undermined her before everyone? You were silent. When our people, _her_ people, were used as human shields for your army, what did you do? Nothing. You who could not even be bothered to defend her from your own people when you _lied_ about the aid she offered freely, who did not attend to her body or seek justice for her death, who let _your_ sister butcher her child and try to murder me, you who have never once stood beside her when she needed it, _demand_ to be with her now? Forgive me, my lord, if I am not moved by this sudden display of devotion! If Daenerys wished to speak to you, no one, not I or her dragons, could keep her from you.”

He took a step towards her, his face hardening, and Missandei recoiled. Even if she did not fear violence at his hands, to be looked at by a man with rage in his eyes stirred up memories she would never be rid of, and she despised it.

But she never got a chance to tell Jon Snow to stay away from her.

Moving faster than she could have ever imagined, Rhaegal was suddenly there, curling his great neck around her protectively, and he roared at Jon with a fury that made the ground tremble beneath her feet.

Behind her Drogon and Viserion echoed him with bellows of rage, and instinctively she reached out a hand, trying to calm him before he attacked Jon and inadvertently started another war.

Speaking in soft Valyrian, she told Rhaegal, “Shhh, shhh, I am safe. You protected me, do not harm him.”

Rhaegal bristled but seemed to calm, apparently soothed by Missandei’s words even before Daenerys reached them. Still not acknowledging Jon, there was something satisfied in the way her friend observed Missandei’s interactions with the dragon.

“Your Grace!”

For whatever reason, Tyrion decided it was a good idea to insert himself into an already tense situation and was approaching them. Looking around, Missandei saw Varys pass through the gates of Winterfell, clearly wanting to make himself scarce, and for once Missandei found herself agreeing with his judgement.

Unlike with Jon, Daenerys had no issue with looking Tyrion in the eye. There was nothing conflicted about her response to him, only pure disgust as he knelt before her.

“My lord,” she acknowledged her former advisor with a curt nod, “You have sworn your allegiance to King Aegon, and I would not ask an _honorable_ man such as yourself to break an oath. However, as my people and I have no diplomatic relationship with your king, I would advise you not approach us. My sons are likely to burn any stranger who comes near.”

“Give me another chance, Your Grace. Have I not served you well?” Tyrion begged.

Daenerys’s voice twisted into something like a snarl. “Your _service_ killed my allies. Your _service_ involved putting my people on the front lines to die. If this is your good service, I do not wish to see what your malice looks like. We are done with each other, Tyrion Lannister. My people and I are leaving Westeros, and I wish you and your king good fortune in the wars to come. Farewell.”

With that, she turned and strode purposefully back towards her people with surprising dignity for a woman as bare as a newborn babe.

Immediately they departed Winterfell, travelling as far as they safely could before it became too dark. Despite the fact that the war was ostensibly won, Grey Worm and the _kos_ insisted on patrols not only around the perimeter, but also within the camp itself and around Daenerys’s tent, which itself was set up in the heart of the encampment. They were not taking any chances with further violence from the Westerosi.

Missandei did not expect Grey Worm to retire to their tent that night-he would be leading the patrols himself-, so when Daenerys asked her to stay with her, she readily agreed. They sat in comfortable silence on the carpet covering the floor of the tent. It was not the great tent used by Daenerys in Essos, but a small one, with just enough room for two people and a brazier. 

In truth, there was no real need for the brazier; all three dragons had bedded down for the night around their tent, and the heat from their bodies radiated even through the thick walls. But the fire seemed to comfort Daenerys, who watched the flames play in the brazier, taking sips from a cup of mare’s milk. Missandei had never been able to stomach the drink, finding it too strong and sour for her taste, but Daenerys seemed soothed by it. She had also dressed herself in an old robe she had worn as Drogo’s _khaleesi_ , seemingly eager to retreat to a time in her life before she had ever known Tyrion or Varys, or anyone with the last name Stark.

Missandei had fully intended to wait until Daenerys began to speak about her death of her own volition, but by the time the cup was nearly drained, her curiosity finally got the best of her, and she asked, “What happened?”

Daenerys was silent for a long moment as she gazed into the flames. “It was as you suspected; after the dead fell, I thought I was safe. Jorah died in my arms, and as I held him and wept over him, the knife pierced my back. I tried to cry out, but I couldn’t. And in the moment before I died, I thought that at least I would see Viserion again. Perhaps I would finally meet my mother and hold Rhaego in my arms, or ride forever in the Night Lands beside my sun-and-stars.”

She looked at Missandei, and her eyes were full of pain and dread. “But instead, I saw…things. Terrible things. Watching as though I was a ghost, I saw something, another life, another world, perhaps. I survived the battle, and we sailed back to Dragonstone. Euron Greyjoy was there, waiting for us, and he…he killed Rhaegal. Another of my children fell from the sky and again I was helpless to stop it. And even though I begged Jon to keep the secret of his parentage, he told his sisters anyway, and when Varys found out the truth he tried to kill me. I burned him for it, just like I promised. Gods, I was so alone.”

Missandei gasped. Betrayal from Jon, the man Daenerys loved so much she had died for him, and the death of another son-it must have destroyed her friend. Just the thought of Rhaegal, not as large as Drogon yet just as fierce in his protectiveness of his family, who had saved her from attackers and tried to comfort her as best he could, screaming as he plummeted to his death, was almost too much for her to bear, and she felt a stab of pain in her own breast. But before she could speak any words of comfort, Daenerys pressed on.

“Euron captured you, and Cersei murdered you. She cut off your head as Grey Worm and I watched, and something broke inside of me.”

She had died? In Daenerys’s…vision, or whatever it had been, she had been executed? After all she had survived, of abduction and enslavement and rape and war, she had died at the whim of a petty tyrant like Cersei? She thought of the fears Grey Worm had confided to her after her escape from the assassins, and could only imagine his anguish if he had to watch her die. It would destroy him.

As strange as all of this was, Missandei believed Daenerys. It explained her desperate, almost frantic relief at seeing Missandei and Rhaegal alive, and how she had known that Tyrion and Varys pledged themselves to Jon after her death. Besides, her enemies had called Daenerys many things, but never a liar.

“So I burned King’s Landing. I burned them all for you, and by the Seven and the Great Stallion, by R’hllor and the gods of Old Valyria, by every god that has ever lived, I would do it again if any harm came to you or Grey Worm or my sons. When my ancestress Queen Rhaenys and her dragon were shot down by the Dornish, her siblings spent two years burning Dorne to avenge her. Two years for a sister-wife and her dragon. How many years for a sister and two sons, for a loyal friend and the blood of my blood?”

There was no answer to that question-at least, not any that Missandei knew. All she could do was take Daenerys’s hand and squeeze it reassuringly.

“Jon killed me. Tyrion convinced him that I was a danger and would burn his sisters, so he took me in his arms and kissed me, and plunged a knife into my breast. It was a version of myself that I did not recognize, but he killed me all the same. The vision ended, and then there was nothing. Not light or dark, not any heavens or hells, just the cold. You say I was dead for three days, but it felt as though I spent an eternity in that terrible nothingness.”

That was the reason, then, behind her strange reaction to Jon, furious and fearful with a touch of grief. How else would one respond when coming face-to-face with their lover or the last of their near kin or their killer, much less all three in one person?

“Then something broke the silence-your voices, calling to me, and warmth crept back into me. I opened my eyes and for an instant I thought I was in Drogo’s pyre in the Dothraki Sea. When I felt Viserion beside me, and I saw you and Grey Worm and my children, alive and healthy and whole, I was so relieved. But I know now that the things I saw must _never_ come to pass. My people, _our_ people, brought me back, and I must do what is best for them. And we will never be safe here.”

“I agree. But what shall we do? Where will we go?” Missandei wanted more than anything to leave Westeros, but somehow just returning to Meereen seemed insufficient. While there were still enslaved people in the world, she knew she could never let herself live in peace.

“Once I told Ser Barristan that the gods made kings and queens to do justice, to protect those who could not protect themselves, and I still believe that. But I cannot do it alone.”

“That’s true, but fortunately you have two armies and three very large dragons, Daenerys. You are not alone, and I do not think anyone expects you to right the wrongs of this world singlehandedly,” Missandei said wryly.

Daenerys shook her head. “I do not discount any of that, dearest Missandei, but in one way I am utterly alone. Years ago I was called a child of three in a prophecy about my life. Three fires I must light, one for life, one for death and one to love. Three mounts must I ride, one to bed and one to dread and one to love. Three treasons I would know, once for blood, once for gold, and once for love. And three heads has the dragon.”

Missandei had never put any stock in prophecies, but after the wonders she had seen, she could not discount them entirely, and so she did not interrupt.

Daenerys continued, “I have lit my fires: I burned the dead to save the living, I burned the masters to free the slaves, and I burned Drogo and Rhaego to give life to my sons. Life and death and love were in all of them. I have ridden my mounts: Daario to bed and Drogo to dread and Jon to love. And treasons…I have known more than three, but Mirri Maz Duur for blood, Viserys for gold, and-”

Here her voice caught and turned mournful. “And Jon for love, again. Love for his family but not for me. Perhaps I am mistaken, and Jon was my mount to dread, not Drogo. My first husband raped me, it is true, but he would never have murdered me, not if I burned a thousand cities, and I grew to love him, in a fashion. For me, it seems that love and dread are two sides of the same coin.”

She gave a bitter laugh, but when she spoke again, her voice was strong and alight with passion.

“The prophecy has been fulfilled in all ways but one. The dragon must have three heads, and I am but one. My ancestors Aegon and Rhaenys, and their sister Visenya, saw the truth of it. Three dragons, three riders, loyal to one another and united behind a common cause-nothing could stand against them.”

Missandei tilted her head, watching her friend’s expression in the flickering light thoughtfully. She knew Daenerys well enough to understand what she was asking, without saying the words outright. Part of her wanted to agree right away, the part of her that had awoken the previous night and felt Rhaegal’s fire burning in her heart.

But still she hesitated. In all the long history of the world, only those with Valyrian blood had ridden dragons, and Missandei was no dragonlord of old. She was a freedwoman of Naath, with no exalted lineage tracing back to the days of the Freehold. Rhaegal’s fondness for her did not mean that she could take him as a mount.

Keeping her voice deliberately light and teasing, she replied, “We share no bond of blood as they did. Aegon’s sisters were his wives as well, are you proposing that we wed?”

She was trying to make a joke of it, as though one could jest about being asked to become a dragonrider.

But Daenerys remained deathly serious. “No. Husbands, brothers, lovers…I’ve had two of each, and six more different men you could not find, yet I trusted none of them the way I trust you.”

Setting down her now-empty cup, she reached across the brazier and took Missandei’s other hand.

“Besides, it isn’t really up to me, is it? Rhaegal chose you. I saw how he defended you from Jon. Even though Jon rode him, he chose _you_ , without hesitation. You were always his favorite, and you have a bond now. I can feel it. Do you?”

Missandei nodded, looking down to avoid the heat of Daenerys’s gaze. Ever since Rhaegal saved her the previous night, she had _felt_ him, become aware of him in a way that she could not articulate. In not one of her nineteen languages could she find the words for how a part of her seemed to dwell within him now, and some piece of him resided in turn beneath her skin. Even now, she sensed his heartbeat, as though it was an echo of her ow. She felt fierce and strong, free and whole, like nothing was impossible and that she would never be alone again.

There was urgency now in Daenerys’s voice, “Will you mount Rhaegal and take your place in the sky with me? Together we can send Euron and his Iron Fleet to the bottom of the sea. Side by side we shall break the chains of every slave in Essos, cast down the slave masters of Volantis and Tyrosh and all the rest, and ensure that none ever rises again. Will you ride beside me, my dearest friend, my sister, blood of my blood?”

Missandei looked into Daenerys’s eyes and saw there a fire for justice, for freedom, to remake the world into something better. She recognized it because it burned in her too, like calling to like, magic to magic, flame to flame.

_Dragon to dragon._

Leaning forward, Missandei touched her forehead to Daenerys’s, and in Valyrian she echoed, “Blood of my blood.”


	2. Something so magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you all for your amazing comments on the last chapter, they make my day! Honestly I kind of hate this chapter, but it's necessary for where I want the story to go. I do hope you enjoy it, and I would love to hear any feedback you have about how it could be improved. Thank you!

They made for White Harbor in a strange mirror of their journey to Winterfell. They had lost so many and suffered so much, yet there was a sense of relief amongst their people. Where before there had only been two dragons in the sky, now there were three, and they were going home.

Having made her choice, Missandei was excited to mount Rhaegal, but she and Daenerys decided it was best to wait until they arrived at their destination. Missandei’s injuries were not yet entirely healed, and although Daenerys had been resurrected, she was still too weak to fly.

So they traveled on horseback, not dragonback-Grey Worm tried to convince them to ride in the carriage Tyrion and Varys previously used, at least until they were stronger, but Daenerys insisted that a _khaleesi_ who could not ride was no _khaleesi,_ and Missandei was hardly going to sit alone all day-and passed the time in conversation. 

Daenerys had only been dead for three days, yet there was so much for them to discuss that it was easy to fill the hours of travel. First Daenerys asked Missandei to tell her what had passed since her death, and Missandei did, starting with the disloyalty Tyrion had shown in the crypt. For the most part, Daenerys was silent and seemingly calm, only occasionally interjecting with questions. Yet as Missandei spoke of the attempted butchering of Viserion, Daenerys’s face hardened, and when she reached the attack on her life, the resurrected queen muttered a Dothraki curse so foul that Missandei would have blushed to translate it. 

“On the night my dragons were born, I swore to my people that those who would harm them would die screaming. Sansa Stark tried to murder you, what would you have me do?”

Missandei was quiet for a long moment, contemplating her answer. “I would let her live. Killing her would make a martyr of her, and serve no purpose for us. Let us leave her and Westeros behind, and know that she will spend the rest of her life in fear, listening for the sound of dragon wings on the wind and wondering if each day will be her last. That way, she will be punishing herself, and our hands will be clean. But I promised her that if any harm came to our people, I would give her the dragon’s mercy, and I will not let these Westerosi make an oathbreaker out of me.”

Daenerys gave her a slow, sharp smile. “As you wish, blood of my blood.”

Their journey was blessedly uneventful, and after several days they arrived at White Harbor. Thankfully, its denizens were more tolerant than the people of Winterfell-or at least concealed their hostility more skillfully-and gladly allowed them to camp outside of the city. They found ready aid in preparing their ships to depart for Dragonstone-for a price, of course. Riders had been sent to bring Yara Greyjoy and her best men overland, so she could lead their attack on the Iron Fleet.

When they first arrived in the North, they only passed an afternoon in White Harbor, just long enough for their forces to disembark. Missandei had been so preoccupied by the upcoming battle that she had scarcely noticed the city and spent little time with Daenerys or Grey Worm-the latter had been focused on the upcoming battle, the former with Jon Snow.

It could not be more different now, though, and despite all that they had experienced, despite the fact that the Iron Fleet still stood between them and Essos, Missandei rather felt as though they were on some kind of holiday. Although the army kept to its usual schedule of drills and patrols, she still spent much more time with Grey Worm. He decided to instruct her and Daenerys in the basics of sword fighting and combat, and wanted them to get used to wearing armor. Neither of them would become great swordswomen, and at times their attempts to move in armor were downright comical, but it made Missandei feel safer, knowing that she would never be defenseless again.

When she wasn’t training or making plans, Missandei passed the time peacefully, resting and enjoying the quiet of White Harbor.

It was quite beautiful, Missandei thought, a city of white stone gleaming even in the dim winter sunlight, with ships bobbing in the harbor and the ever-present cries of seabirds.

The dragons hunted over the water often, much to the fascination of the northerners, who gathered on the walls to watch them swoop down and snatch fish up, then toss them in the air and roasting them with flame. On one memorable occasion, Rhaegal and Viserion had worked together to capture a whale, scooping it out of the water to carry it back to shore and consume it.

It was on a windswept plain outside the city, where sea breezes met the stillness of the forest, that Missandei learned to fly.

Several days after their arrival in White Harbor, Vorri deemed Missandei and Daenerys well enough for flying, and with her blessing they set off to the field the dragons had claimed for their own. For the first time since their departure from Winterfell, they were alone-or at least, no guards were visible. Missandei was sure that there were soldiers just out of sight, and if Grey Worm was not discreetly watching them from a distance, Missandei would swim naked in the White Knife.

She did not mind, even though she was quite certain that no harm would come to them in the presence of the dragons. After all they had endured at Winterfell, she cherished feeling safe and protected more than ever.

Missandei was so excited to ride Rhaegal, yet she had no idea what to expect. On the road from Winterfell she tried to ask Daenerys for advice, for an explanation of how one went about mounting a dragon, but her friend shook her head and said that it was something that could not be taught, only experienced.

All three dragons were lazing about on the ground, warming themselves in the thin winter sun, when Missandei and Daenerys approached. After greeting Viserion and Drogon, Missandei went to Rhaegal, who trilled happily at her approach. Daenerys had told her to follow her instincts, so that was what Missandei did.

“Could you put your wing down for me, Rhaegal?” She murmured in Valyrian, running a hand along his side as she had seen Daenerys do with Drogon countless times.

Apparently she had not been the only one watching over the years, because Rhaegal twisted his right shoulder towards the ground, spreading his wing out. With great care Missandei stepped onto the thick bony part of his wing and grasped the great spikes protruding from his scales. For a moment she was still, and he twisted his head around to look at her.

From where she already sat on Drogon’s back, Daenerys called out, “Are you alright, Missandei?”

“Yes,” she replied without hesitation, “Just making sure this is still something he wants.”

Her friend laughed. “Trust me, if he didn’t want you to do this he would let you know.”

Reassured by her words and the affection in Rhaegal’s bronze eyes, she climbed up onto his broad back.

Of course she was familiar with how warm the dragons were to the touch, but she could feel the heat of his body even through her heavy winter clothes. Shifting to find her balance, she leaned forward and took hold of two spikes, the contrast of their deep green startling against the black of her gloves. 

Missandei took a deep breath, opening the part of her that was connected to Rhaegal as she reached deep into their bond, her eyes fluttering shut. 

Sensation washed over her, warm and powerful, and an involuntary sigh of pleasure escaped her lips.

It was something she lacked the words to fully describe, and she wondered if any language was sufficient to capture the deep feeling of oneness she shared with the dragon, the sense that the line between their minds had blurred, that there was no longer a her or a him, only _them,_ two halves of a great and terrible whole.

Daenerys chuckled, and Missandei opened her eyes to see her friend smiling fondly at them from her perch atop Drogon. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

“I’m not sure good is a strong enough word for this. But it will suffice,” she responded, half-jesting and half-serious. “Shall we fly?”

Daenerys nodded, and with that Drogon took off, followed closely by Viserion. Missandei could not separate the anticipation flooding her veins from what Rhaegal was feeling as he all but quivered with excitement beneath her.

“ _Sōvēs,_ ” Missandei whispered to Rhaegal, and he rocked back onto his hind legs, muscles coiling beneath her, then launched them into the air.

For an instant her stomach dropped, but then with a powerful sweep of his wings Rhaegal propelled them _up_ and Missandei was flying. The earth and all its troubles fell away, and there was only her and her dragon and the vast open sky.

She thought it would be best to follow Drogon and Viserion, and found that even shifting her eyes or weight to steer Rhaegal was unnecessary. All she needed to do was think of where she wanted to go and he somehow knew. They would need to continue to practice, of course, until they thought with a single mind and moved as one in battle, but Missandei did not think that would take long.

They flew over their camp, and even at such a great distance, Missandei could hear excited cries from their people at the sight. A few Dothraki rode after them, shouting out encouragement from below, but even the fastest horse could not keep pace with a dragon, and they soon fell behind.

Earlier they decided not to fly over the city itself-no need to push the limits of White Harbor’s tolerance for their presence-so they turned towards the ocean, the sharp, salty wind stinging her face and blowing her hair back. Rhaegal and Missandei soon caught up with the other two dragons, and the brothers called to each other, their song mixing with the crashing of waves.

Flying out over the water, they passed what the locals called Sea Rock-an island, to Missandei’s eyes, with unmanned fortifications and beaches covered with lounging seals. As the dragons’ massive shadows fell upon them, the seals gave an angry chorus of barks and cries, making for the water as fast as they could. The sight was so comical that Missandei burst out laughing, and she glanced over at Daenerys, expecting to see her amused as well.

But her friend, also staring down at the island, seemed stricken, her face pale and frozen. Missandei looked, trying to see what had upset her so much. There were the seals, of course, and then the island’s defenses: stone walls and small towers, and-

Scorpions. Half a dozen of them, lined up to fire at any ships entering the harbor, with bolts stacked up in neat piles beside them. Although the island was currently deserted, the image of one of those bolts tearing through Rhaegal flashed unbidden through Missandei’s mind- _his roars of pain_ , _blood, so much blood, her blood or his, was there even a difference?_ \- and she felt dizzy.

“We need to land!” She called to Daenerys, but the other woman did not hear her, her eyes still fixed on the scorpions.

 _We need to find a better way to communicate on dragonback,_ Missandei thought, frustrated. _Hand signals, perhaps?_

Certainly shouting and hoping for the best in the tumult of battle, as Daenerys and Jon had done in the Battle of Winterfell, would not do.

She urged Rhaegal to fly around Drogon, forcing them between Daenerys and the sight that had seemingly paralyzed her. Once she knew she had her friend’s attention, she pointed down at the island, hoping she would understand. When Missandei landed Rhaegal in the open space at the center of the fortifications, Viserion and Drogon soon followed.

They both slid off their dragons, and without saying a word, embraced each other.

With her friend in her arms and the dragons around them, Missandei felt the dizziness recede. 

In a voice scarcely louder than a whisper, Daenerys said, “When I saw them, all I could think of was Rhaegal and the way he screamed in that other life. How he fell into the sea while I watched, helpless…I burned all of Euron’s scorpions, then, every last one, but they still haunt me.”

“I know. I wish we could destroy them right now, but we can’t. We need to use them, to learn from them, so that when we face the Iron Fleet, we’re ready.”

Daenerys pulled back, “Are you suggesting that we practice with them?”

“Ignoring something frightening or pretending it doesn’t exist won’t make it go away. If we prepare, then they will no longer be a threat to us,” Missandei said firmly, impressed with how steady her voice was. In truth, the idea of dodging bolts and arrows in the sky was terrifying, but she meant what she said. If they were to face scorpions in battle-and she was certain that they would-they needed to be ready.

Daenerys still looked uncertain, but she nodded in assent.

Grey Worm was also less than enthused. Instructing them in hand-to-hand combat was one thing, but scorpion bolts were another issue entirely. When they returned to the camp and Missandei told him about her idea, he asked, in the most sarcastic voice she had ever heard from him, “Should I ask Okho to choose his best archers to shoot arrows at you as well?”

But Daenerys looked thoughtful. “Actually, that’s quite a good idea.”

Grey Worm gave an exasperated sigh.

But he saw the logic in Missandei’s plan, and agreed to make arrangements with the council governing White Harbor to use their scorpions. In the meantime, they practiced dodging volleys of arrows on dragonback, and Missandei learned to keep her seat as Rhaegal twisted and banked through the air, how to press herself close to his back and use his massive body as a shield. Day by day, she felt more prepared for the battle to come.

Gold needed to change hands to get anything done, naturally-some things were universal, it seemed-but ultimately they received access to the scorpions. When the time came, Grey Worm insisted that he be the one to fire the scorpions-if anyone was going to shoot at them, it needed to be someone with stellar aim who was utterly trustworthy. And he trusted no one with Missandei and Daenerys’s lives as much but himself.

And as terrifying as it was to face down the scorpion, knowing what it was capable of, Missandei comforted herself with the knowledge that they would be ready for whatever they faced.

No spear would claim Viserion’s life; no bolt would tear Rhaegal from her or knock Drogon from the sky. Not in this lifetime.

Between flying and training with Grey Worm, Missandei went to bed every night exhausted and arose sore, but she could scarcely think of a time when she had been happier.

Yet outside of their camp, the world continued to move. Every day Vorri went into the city to trade and peruse the market, and every day she returned with fresh seafood-and gossip.

It seemed that the market stalls of White Harbor were a bustling hub of information, with news pouring in from every part of the North and beyond, discussed extensively and passed along by a cabal of elderly women. Fishwives and merchant’s widows, cooks and brewers-nothing escaped their notice. And somehow Vorri had managed to tap into this vital source of information.

The first time Vorri proudly shared the spoils of the day with Missandei-a clay jar filled with mussels and word that the Glovers had declared their independence from House Stark, with their lord crowning himself King of Deepwood Motte-all she could do was ask incredulously, “How do you get them to speak to you?”

It was shocking to her after the hostility they had faced at Winterfell. Vorri spoke the Common Tongue perfectly, but so did Missandei, and that had not seemed to help.

Vorri shrugged, as if it was no great matter. “It’s the sisterhood of old women. Complain about your aching joints and how ungrateful young people are these days, and it’s like they’ve known you all your lives.”

Missandei took her word for it, and politely declined Vorri’s offer to share the mussels with her and the rest of the _dosh khaleen_ -their briny odor made her stomach turn. She was not shocked that the Glovers continued to disobey Jon-after all, she had been present in Winterfell’s Great Hall when word came that their lord would not be joining the war against the dead, in direct defiance of his orders. But declaring independence, not just from the Iron Throne but from the Starks themselves…That was something else entirely.

If Jon Snow could not hold on to a kingdom that had acknowledged the Starks as their overlords since time immemorial, what hope had he of claiming the other six kingdoms?

Further revelations came in a subsequent conversation, confirming, to Missandei’s surprise, that many of the northerners shared her skepticism about Tyrion and Varys’s claim regarding Jon’s true identity, a tale they had been spreading across the continent as fast as a raven could fly.

“Many of them don’t believe it’s true,” Vorri explained as she stirred a pot of stew, “There’s no real proof to any of their claims to the annulment or marriage, or even of their king’s alleged parentage. Even if there was, no one considers a secret divorce to be legitimate. Besides, people don’t _want_ to believe it, and that’s half the battle anyway.”

“Why ever not?” She understood the suspicions of the highborn, but wondered why the smallfolk would be concerned either way. To Missandei, it seemed like the news that the king of your impoverished land was also the king of six other (far wealthier) kingdoms could only be seen as a good thing, but so much about the Westerosi was unfathomable to her.

Unexpectedly, Vorri laughed. “You are so clever that sometimes I forget how young you are, Missandei. Well, imagine this. You’re a common woman who’s been wed for years, you’ve been a good wife and given your husband children, but you fear his eye has started to wander. If a princess, married before the gods, who was also a good wife who bore her husband two children, could be set aside for some fresh young thing, what does it mean for you? Could your husband cast you out and make your children bastards in secret?”

Missandei understood. From that point of view, opposition to the circumstances surrounding Jon’s very existence was perfectly logical. Treating him as legitimate could set a dangerous precedent, especially in a society as concerned with bastardy and status as the Westerosi.

Vorri continued, “And the news that Lyanna Stark wasn’t kidnapped but went willingly-that’s even more unpopular. Nearly all of these women lost men in Robert’s Rebellion, fathers and brothers, husbands and sons…countless northern men marched south and never came back. So to hear that the North bled, not to avenge the Starks, but because some noble girl wanted to lay down with a married man…it’s an insult.”

That was easy to understand, even for an outsider. Again Missandei wondered: if his own people were unwilling to accept Jon as king, was it possible that any of the other kingdoms would follow him? What were Tyrion and Varys thinking?

Another day Vorri presented Missandei with some dried seaweed-which seemed to be the only thing available at the market she could eat-and said nonchalantly, “You know, some people doubt that the Starks in Winterfell are even Starks at all. They all disappeared for years, and no one’s left who knew them as children. They could be anyone. None of them even have the wolves to prove who they are.”

Unlike her other news, this had not occurred to Missandei. With their imperious, insular attitude, it seemed absurd that the Starks she had met could be anything but highborn.

“But Jon Snow still has his wolf.” Missandei glimpsed the great white beast at his side at Winterfell several times, and did not think he could be mistaken for anything but what he was.

“He does. But most think he belongs at the Wall. He swore an oath, after all, and few give credit to the tale that he was freed from his vows by dying and being resurrected by a foreign witch. No proof of that, either. These northerners are a cold people, it is true, but they are no gullible fools.”

Missandei could not disagree with that either. She believed that Jon had indeed died and been brought back from the dead-after what she had seen, it would be impossible not to-but unless it was something you saw with your own eyes, it seemed absurd.

Telling herself that Jon Snow, his advisors, and their troubles were no longer her concern, and that she would likely never see him again, she tried to push those thoughts from her mind.

But she was proven wrong when their fragile idyll was shattered by the arrival of Daenerys’s erstwhile lover, the would-be king of the Seven Kingdoms.

She returned to the camp to warn Daenerys and Grey Worm. Her lover was anything but pleased, and even though she assured him that Jon had not brought the northern army-such as it was-he still went to notify the _kos_ and other Unsullied commanders so they could prepare. Daenerys, however, seemed neither particularly surprised or upset, though a strange look crossed her face. Then she simply thanked Missandei for telling her before changing the topic by asking how her flight with Rhaegal had been. 

Soon after, an outrider arrived to inform them that Jon Snow-the messenger rattled off a long list of titles but Missandei would only ever be able to think of him as Jon-wanted to speak with their queen. He wished to meet with her that very evening, in a field not far from where they were now.

Missandei fully expected Daenerys to politely decline, offer the messenger a hot meal, and send him on his way, but to her great shock, her friend accepted. As soon as the man was out of their presence, she demanded to know why, asking what possible reason Daenerys could have for doing this. Earnestly Daenerys promised Missandei that she knew it seemed foolish to meet with Jon, but she must, and would explain everything after she spoke to him. It was entirely unlike Daenerys to keep secrets, but in the end, Missandei trusted her. She just hoped that Jon would not give her cause to regret it.

And thus Missandei found herself watching warily as Jon and his retinue lined up on the far side of the field. She saw Davos standing near him-he even raised a hand to her in greeting-but it seemed that Tyrion and Varys were not present, which was a wise choice.

Yet Jon’s forces were still far outnumbered by their own. Daenerys insisted on not bringing their entire army to this meeting, so their numbers were relatively small: Grey Worm and one hundred of his most skilled Unsullied, as well as Okho and Temmo with the strongest surviving riders, all under Missandei’s command until Daenerys returned.

And of course, the dragons were present, standing around Missandei protectively. She could feel the anxiety rolling off Rhaegal, and the other two seemed unsettled too, so she spoke softly and reassuringly to them. She chose to watch the meeting from the ground, rather than on Rhaegal, in an attempt to keep tensions low. A mounted dragonrider would likely be perceived as a threat.

So far, the dragons had remained calm, but their eyes were fixed on their mother as she walked across the field to speak with Jon. It was a decision that no one was happy with, but she was adamant and would not be budged.

Daenerys and Jon stopped in the middle of the field, with perhaps ten feet between them. From this distance, Missandei could not hear a word they were saying, but tension radiated from Daenerys even as Jon seemed to be pleading with her. How different from their first meeting, when he strode so boldly into the throne room of Dragonstone to make his demands, while Daenerys sat aloof on her throne.

They spoke for only a few minutes before Daenerys abruptly turned her back to Jon and walked resolutely back towards their people, frustration evident in her face. Whatever they had discussed, it had apparently not gone well.

But at least it was done, and with any luck this would be the end of her friend’s entanglement with the northerners. Missandei quite liked Davos Seaworth, finding him a kindly and curious man who was an engaging conversation partner, and she hoped that some day he would find his way to Essos. But as for the rest…Well, if she never saw any of them again, Missandei would certainly not mourn.

When Daenerys stumbled, Missandei thought she must have just tripped, but beside her Drogon let out a terrible roar of pain as his mother collapsed to the ground, joined an instant later by Rhaegal and Viserion.

It was then that she saw the arrow protruding from her friend’s back.

Horror swept over Missandei, because this could not be happening, her friend had not defied death and returned to her only to be snatched away again. The pain was even worse than it had been the last time, because she felt Rhaegal’s grief along with her own, so great it threatened to overwhelm her, and for a moment all she wanted to do was burn them where they stood.

But then she saw Jon running to Daenerys, his panic evident as he screamed her name, even as a northern archer turned to flee into the forest, and she realized what had happened.

Someone-Varys or Sansa, most likely-had tried to kill her friend, _again._

Acting purely on instinct, Missandei ran forward as she called to the dragons to go to their mother, to guard her, and commanded Grey Worm and the _kos_ to hold their position.

To Jon she pointed at the would-be assassin and shouted, “Him, him!”

Fortunately he understood, charging after the man.

She pulled her friend into her arms carefully, trying not to jostle her.

In a voice scarcely louder than a whisper, Daenerys gasped out, “I need-I need…dragons.”

Drogon nuzzled at her gently, and his brothers were whimpering as they pressed close. Missandei said, “Don’t worry, they’re here, your sons are here.”

A bellow of rage caught her attention, and she glanced up for an instant-just long enough to see Jon Snow shove the man who’d shot Daenerys to his knees, then take off his head with a single sweep of his sword. Part of her was relieved that the murderer had been punished, but it would mean nothing if her friend still died, and she looked back at her friend’s agonized face.

But Daenerys shook her head and with a shaking hand pushed weakly at Missandei’s chest, as if trying to shove her away. She choked, “Leave me-I need… _dracarys_.”

Missandei did not, could not, understand, but who was she to argue? She had no solution and it seemed that Daenerys did. Her friend had done the impossible before, so many times, and now was not the time for doubt.

As gently as she could, she eased Daenerys onto the ground and stepped back. Leaving her friend there bleeding on the barren earth felt wrong, so wrong, but she had to have faith.

The dragons looked from her to their mother, and with a certainty she did not possess, Missandei called, “ _Dracarys!”_

Flames poured from all three dragons’ mouths, rolling over Daenerys in wave after wave. They bathed her in dragonfire, just as they had back at Winterfell, though this time there were no strange colors or sounds, and Missandei could see Daenerys’s silhouette where she lay still curled on the ground.

And then, her friend sat up and reached over her shoulder to tear the arrow free, flinging it contemptuously away as though it was no more than a splinter. Unsteadily, she rose to her feet and spread her arms wide, giving herself to the flames, seeming to take strength from the fire as she drank it in.

When the fire died down, Daenerys shrugged off the burnt remnants of her clothes, then returned to her people without ever looking back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and that it wasn't too slow. Next up, we will find out why Dany wanted to speak with Jon alone and Euron's ambush at Dragonstone will not go as he planned. Thank you all for reading, please leave me a comment and let me know what you think!


	3. To its reckoning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you all for your wonderful feedback on the last chapter, I really appreciate you all reading and commenting, and I am so glad you are enjoying the fic <3 You may have noticed that the chapter count increased on this fic, and that's because I couldn't fit Missandei confronting Sansa and Euron getting wrecked in the same chapter. So, one more chapter after this one, and then at least one more multi-chapter fic to follow, as well as some other one shots!
> 
> Also, happy early birthday to khalee_sica, I hope you have a wonderful day, and enjoy this early birthday surprise!!!

“If you keep walking into fires, you won’t have any clothes left,” Missandei said, keeping her voice light in an attempt at humor. Even now, in the safety of Daenerys’s tent, with the northerners gone, she could not forget that terrible fear, those agonizing moments of thinking she had lost her friend again.

“I assure you, I don’t plan on repeating today’s performance any time soon,” Daenerys chuckled weakly, then shifted on her pallet beneath a mound of coverlets and winced. According to Vorri, although the dragonflame seemed to have healed the internal damage caused by the arrow and kept Daenerys from losing too much blood, it could not erase the pain of the injury. Nor would it prevent the formation of a second scar on her back, a twin to the dagger wound that had cost Daenerys her life.

_Yet another token of Westerosi hospitality_ , Missandei thought bitterly.

But instead she nodded towards the steaming cup beside her friend, “You should drink some of this tea, it will help with the pain. Vorri gave it to me after Sansa tried to have me killed, and despite the taste I did feel much better.”

In truth, the tea was a compromise: Vorri tried to convince Daenerys to drink poppy wine, to dull the pain enough that she could sleep, but she flatly refused. Missandei recalled Daenerys telling her that her first husband consumed large quantities of poppy wine before his own collapse and death, and perhaps that was the reason she would not take any.

Yet Daenerys had not taken as much as a sip of the tea either, shaking her head at Missandei’s suggestion, and a suspicion began to form in Missandei’s mind.

“Very well. If you wish suffer, then that is your prerogative,” Missandei replied, settling in the low leather chair across from Daenerys’s pallet. “But I recommend you pour that tea out before Vorri returns, else you hurt her feelings.”

A smile crossed Daenerys’s face, drawn and exhausted as it was, as she pulled back one of the carpets covering the tent floor and tipped the contents of the cup onto the earth.

“More likely she would force it down my throat, all while complaining about the ingratitude of young people and our lack of respect for our elders!”

Missandei laughed at that, because even though Vorri was invaluable in so many ways, she was also perhaps the only person in the world unafraid to lecture the Mother of Dragons and the Dragonspeaker to their faces. They sat in peaceful silence for a while before Missandei spoke again.

“Daenerys, you said that you needed to speak to Jon and would tell me after what your reason was, even though when last you saw him, you told him you had nothing to say to him. What was worth risking your life for?”

“I am pregnant,” Daenerys replied without hesitation, quite simply, with the same utter certainty that one would use to say that the sun rose in the east and set in the west.

Unfortunately at that moment Missandei was taking a deep sip of her own tea-the fragrant mint variety that she preferred, not the strong stuff in Daenerys’s own cup-, and in her shock choked on it.

Once she was able to speak again, she asked, incredulous, “You’re going to have a baby?”

“I certainly hope it’s a baby and not an egg,” Daenerys retorted, laughing a little, and despite her pain the joy was evident on her face. Missandei knew how deeply her friend longed for a child, how she had never stopped grieving her lost son Rhaego, and she embraced Daenerys, holding her as tightly as she dared.

“Congratulations, sister. I am so very happy for you,” she murmured, smiling at this unexpected blessing.

When they separated, Missandei glanced involuntarily down at her friend’s torso, concealed now beneath a loose robe. But she had seen her emerge naked from the pyre just a few weeks past, and there had been no swell to her belly then. This pregnancy must be relatively early, then; if Daario had gotten her with child in Essos she would be showing by now.

But how could Daenerys be certain so soon? She had not seemed unusually fatigued or ill, or at least, not in a way that Missandei had noticed. Missandei cast her mind back, trying to remember the last time Daenerys’s courses came, and found she could not recall. That was not unusual, as Missandei’s cycle had always been extremely predictable, but Daenerys bled irregularly-part of the curse that made her barren, she had thought. Sometimes half a year would pass between appearances of her moon blood.

“You do not seem entirely shocked. Did you know?” Daenerys asked.

Missandei gestured towards the empty cup. “I suspected. That tea is foul but you drink fermented mare’s milk as though it is water, so I knew it could not just be the taste. Besides, as you said, the dragon must have three heads, and we are only two. There must be another.”

“You’re right, I wasn’t certain if the tea would harm her.”

“Her?” Missandei asked.

“Yes, it’s a girl.”

“How do you know?”

A distant, faraway look slid over Daenerys’s face. “I knew Rhaego was a boy too, and when I told Drogo he asked me that same question. The answer is the same now as it was then. I just…know.”

Missandei had heard of women with child having a sense of whether they carried a boy or a girl, but with Daenerys, she suspected it was something more than a gut feeling.

Her friend continued, “A few nights past, I dreamt of a great shadow, Missandei, and beneath that shadow lay a glowing green river beside a city of black stone.”

Missandei gave Daenerys a sharp look. “Asshai. You dreamt of Asshai-by-the-Shadow?”

In all Missandei’s years in Astapor, Asshai seemed to be the one place that the masters of that city truly feared. A Dothraki _khalasar_ could be bribed with gold and horses, a sellsword company bought off with a more lucrative offer. But the inhabitants of the Shadow were something entirely different, and were utterly disinterested in the usual business of the slave trade. The Asshai’i did not want slaves to defend their walls or warm their beds, but rather, for their various arcane magical practices and religious rites. Nothing was forbidden in Asshai-by-the-Shadow, and all knew that there were no children in that terrible place. Their reputation was enough to frighten even the most hardened slaver, and so while the Good Masters of Astapor took Asshai’i, gold, they never dared try to trick a customer from the Shadow, or even drive a particularly hard bargain.

Despite her desire to see as much of the world as possible, Missandei had never entertained the thought of visiting Asshai-by-the-Shadow.

Daenerys nodded. “Drogon flew low over the city, low enough that I could see people in the streets fighting, not with swords or spears but with magic. Yet everywhere slaves were throwing down their masters, attacking them with their bare hands, and where I could, I burned the masters. It was easy to tell them from the slaves, even easier than in Astapor, for all the masters were masked or veiled, and those they held in bondage were bare to that terrible cold light. I could feel it draining me, sapping my energy, my very life, through my skin. It is no wonder that slaves do not survive there long. Then Drogon and I were caught in some terrible spell, pulling the air from our lungs, stealing our fire, until two great pillars of flame came from above and burnt our attackers all to ash. When I looked up, there you were atop Rhaegal, like some goddess of old Valyria, and…At first I thought I was seeing myself riding Viserion, but it wasn’t me. It was her. My daughter. I know it is too soon for me to feel her move, but I am certain, as certain as I was when I stepped into Drogo’s pyre, that I carry Jon’s child.”

“And that is why you wished to speak with Jon. Did you tell him?” Missandei hoped with every fiber of her being that Daenerys had not. She could understand the urge to tell him, as it was his child as much as Daenerys’s, but that information would be deadly if it became widely known. 

“No, and thank the gods that I did not. Jon has proven that he will not lie or keep a secret, at least not for me, and if I tell him then soon Varys and Sansa and all the rest will know too. You are the only one who knows. After we destroy the Iron Fleet I will tell Grey Worm-not before, that will just make him worry-and Vorri, but this must remain a secret.”

Missandei was relieved that Jon did not know, because Daenerys was right-if he knew, Daenerys might as well send out ravens bearing the news to every corner of Westeros. But to her mind there was no reason to conceal the pregnancy from Grey Worm and Vorri.

“No, you must tell them before. What if you are injured in battle? If Vorri does not know you are with child, she cannot treat you effectively or safely. And Grey Worm needs to know. I will not tell him but you should. And what did you and Jon speak of, if not the pregnancy?”

“I will tell Grey Worm soon, I promise. And I wanted to give Jon a chance to come with us. I thought perhaps we could be happy together in Essos, without politics or the Iron Throne between us, if he loved me the way he claims to. But he refused, saying that he could never leave Westeros and that his place was here.”

For a moment Missandei found herself taken aback at the very idea of Jon sweltering his furs in Essos-he seemed so out of place, even in her mind’s eye. But she was certain that Grey Worm would follow her wherever she went, and knew beyond a doubt that she would do the same for him. For love, true love, it was not too much to ask.

Missandei thought of Jon, locking himself away to grieve for Daenerys, and his joy at seeing her alive again. “Yet I believe he does love you. At least in a fashion.” 

Pain crossed her friend’s face, and for a moment her hands trembled. “Perhaps. But it is not enough.”

Missandei reached out and caught Daenerys’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze of reassurance.

Daenerys continued, “He had some harebrained scheme where we would marry and rule together, even though I told him that could never be. We would never be safe here-you and I and all of our people, and that you are my first priority. Not him. But he assured me that I was wrong and no one would harm me.”

Missandei rolled her eyes. “But he made no reassurances about the rest of us. And what about his sister? She did her best to murder me, and she’s tried to kill you twice, and even succeeded once.”

“He doesn’t believe that she’s capable of anything like that…before the battle she told me that men are fools, and she was more right than she knew. Jon is convinced that the attacks on us at Winterfell were just random acts of violence. Apparently he made Sansa swear an oath before a heart tree before he came here, promising that she would never try to harm any of us again, and you saw how long she held to _that_. When I told him otherwise, he became angry, and I knew there was no use in trying to convince him. Everyone gets a choice, and he has made his, to stay here, and I have made mine, to return to Essos. I will raise our daughter there and he will not be a part of our lives. That is the end of it.”

Daenerys spoke firmly, but Missandei detected the sorrow there. She would raise their child without Jon, and do it well, but part of her grieved his choice. 

“You cannot conceal it forever. Eventually word will get out that you are with child.” She was not trying to cause her friend undue fear, but they would need to be even more careful. Sansa’s assassination attempt-because Varys would never have been so sloppy, and she doubted that a Lannister agent would be able to infiltrate the greatly depleted northern army without being detected-had failed, but there would be others.

“Yes, but with any luck by then we will be far away in Essos. The Narrow Sea did not shield me entirely from the Usurper’s blades, it is true, but whoever wins this war will have rather fewer resources to pursue us than he did. I do not want my daughter to be on the run from the moment she is born, as I was.”

“Vaes Dothrak would be the safest place for her to be born, I think.” Missandei had always wanted to see the great city of the Dothraki, and its remoteness would make it easy to defend. 

A shadow crossed Daenerys’s face. “Varys nearly killed me and Rhaego in the Western Market, nowhere is beyond his reach.”

Missandei shook her head. “He reached you in the market, yes, but if you give birth with the _dosh khaleen_ , in the very heart of Vaes Dothrak, with your bloodriders and dragons to protect you, not even Varys could harm her. And as for Sansa…I think you could put a dagger in her hand and press it to your own throat and she would still find a way to bungle it. I doubt she knows what Vaes Dothrak is, let alone has any idea how to send an assassin there.”

At that Daenerys gave an unladylike snort of amusement, and Missandei smiled.

“Will you be alright if I leave you tonight? Rhaegal and I have business to attend to at Winterfell.”

“I can send Drogon or Viserion with you to accompany you, if you’d like-”

Missandei cut her off. “No, they should stay here with you, you’ll heal faster in their presence. I only need one dragon for what I intend to do.”

“And what precisely is that?” Daenerys asked without judgement in her voice.

“I am not planning to burn them, if that is what you mean. No, I will remind the people of Winterfell who their true enemy is.”

Daenerys nodded and settled back into her nest of blankets. “Very well. I think you should wait until morning before you depart, though. Rhaegal knows the way but flying in the dark can be quite disorienting. But it is your choice, of course.”

“That’s it? You’re not going to try to convince me not to go or to wait until you can come too?” Missandei could not keep the surprise from her voice. It was not that she expected Daenerys to argue, but perhaps she had just gotten used to watching Tyrion and Varys constantly oppose her at every turn.

“First of all, if I see that wretched castle again I might burn it to the ground, and I will not risk that,” she gave a sharp little laugh, “More importantly, you are a woman grown, Missandei, you are wiser and braver and _better_ than anyone I have ever met. It is not for me or anyone else to tell you what you can or cannot do. But if you’d like, I can pretend to be Tyrion and lecture you about things you understand better than I do?”

Missandei smirked. “Ah yes, could you please explain Valyrian grammar to me? Or tell me how slavery isn’t really so terrible, based on your vast experience of a few days?”

Pitching her voice low, Daenerys responded in truly awful Valyrian with a nasal Westerosi accent, saying that _some_ masters were kind to their slaves and it wasn’t fair to them to take away their wealth, because they had earned it through their hard work, before they both dissolved into laughter.

In the end, Missandei decided to delay her visit to Winterfell until the next day. There was no rush, and she wanted to pass the night with Grey Worm. He knew what she intended to do, and although he did not relish the idea of her flying off to danger alone, he did not try to dissuade her. She slept soundly in his arms, and when they rose early the following morning, he carefully dressed her in the best-fitting armor he had been able to find. Grey Worm was planning to have full suits of armor commissioned for her and Daenerys once they returned to Essos, lightweight to accommodate their smaller frames but still providing them with protection when they flew to war, but for now, she was wearing a patchwork of Unsullied armor. Her limbs were covered with heavy leather, gauntlets on her arms and greaves on her legs, and a steel breastplate shielded her torso.

When he kissed her, long and tender and loving, before placing the spiked helmet on her head, she marveled at the strange role reversal: herself clad in armor, going alone to face a foe, with him staying behind. But some things remained the same, no matter where they were or who was leaving. The words of love and the pain of parting from one another were unchanged.

Then she mounted Rhaegal, and they took off just as the sun began to rise.

They flew fast, but she did not press Rhaegal too hard. He was entirely recovered from the battle with Viserion, having healed much faster than anyone had expected. Missandei thought that, perhaps as Daenerys was strongest when with her dragons, they drew similar strength from her presence and each other’s.

The great empty expanse of the North passed beneath them, a seemingly endless stretch of grey and white. Missandei would never like Westeros, but she found that it was far more tolerable from dragonback. Despite the cold wind, the heat radiating from Rhaegal kept her comfortable, and she was at peace with what she was about to do.

After a few hours, Rhaegal chirped, and Missandei saw it: there, on the horizon, was Winterfell. It looked quite small from the air, but so did everything from this height. Missandei urged Rhaegal to fly faster, and he obeyed, letting out a great cry as they descended upon the castle.

She and Rhaegal took a lazy circuit about the walls, eliciting cries of shock and fear from the few people she saw walking the ramparts. From this cursory look, Winterfell seemed shockingly empty, with no one camping on the plains outside the castle proper and far less activity than she would have expected in the seat of a would-be king.

With a great crash, Rhaegal landed on one of the few intact sections of wall, spreading his wings wide and snarling, as if to ensure that he and his rider would not be ignored.

Rhaegal had done an excellent job in getting the northerners’ attention, and everyone in the courtyard was openly gawking at them.

_They are realizing that I am not Daenerys_ , Missandei thought. Even the most foolish person could tell Rhaegal and Drogon apart, and though her face was mostly covered by the helmet, she had no distinctive silver-gold plait hanging down her back.

In her loudest, strongest voice, Missandei called out, “Where is Sansa Stark?”

She saw several people hurry into the Great Hall, hopefully to get their lady. Even if no one went to fetch Sansa, there was no way she could have missed Missandei’s arrival, and she would need to show herself if she wanted to save face before her people.

As she waited, Missandei surveyed the courtyard. Not only were there much fewer people than there had been upon their departure, she noticed that only the Stark banner now flew in the courtyard-gone were the falcon-and-moon banner of the Vale, the moose of House Hornwood, the black bear of House Mormont and the sunburst of House Karstark.

The Mormonts and Karstarks made sense, as those houses had been extinguished in the war with the dead, but she recalled that the Hornwoods and the forces of the Vale had come through the battle in better shape than most.

Perhaps the Glovers were not the only ones who have abandoned the Starks. She wondered if the Hornwoods had sworn allegiance to the Glovers, or simply declared their independence as well. Had the Vale declared its boy-lord, a relation of the Stark children, king in his own right? Or perhaps they had simply tired of this interminable war, and rather than fight for yet another king, decided to retreat to their own lands.

Well, whatever they had done, Missandei wished them well. The Starks deserved every bit of treachery and deceit that came their way.

She noticed something else new, a great wooden chair in the process of being built. It was massive, towering over the men working on it, and carved with wolves and what looked like…fish? Why on earth would Jon want a throne-because that was what it undoubtedly was-carved with fish? Unless they were extremely poor representations of dragons…

And then she recalled something Tyrion had told her, that the previous Lady of Winterfell, Sansa’s mother, had been born a Tully-another great noble house, whose sigil was a leaping trout. This was not Jon’s throne, but Sansa’s.

Of course. Perhaps she hoped that Jon would be blamed for her assassination attempt and die at White Harbor, or that he would give her the North in the unlikely event that he succeeded in taking the Iron Throne?

She was not particularly surprised, but still felt disgusted that someone could so openly long for power that they would put their own family and people at risk just for the chance to grab at it. That they would be so consumed by their own need for acclamation that they would put their limited resources towards creating an embodiment of their vanity, not to feeding their war-torn people or rebuilding their shattered land.

A familiar voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Missandei, if we could just speak-” Tyrion stepped out into the courtyard, and she wondered how he could possibly think she was interested in anything he had to say. He did not get to finish his sentence, however, as Rhaegal swiveled his head to stare him down and bellowed with a ferocity that made the very stones of Winterfell tremble.

The man backed away, his palms upward in a placating gesture. Missandei fixed him with a hard look.

“Tyrion Lannister, do not presume to speak my name. You would have gladly condemned hundreds of thousands, myself included, to chains rather than spill a little slaver blood. I am not here for you, and you are _nothing_ to me. Be silent or Rhaegal will give you a warmer kiss.”

At that moment Sansa emerged from the Great Hall, trying her to best to look as though she was coming by choice and not under duress. Missandei turned to face her, and Rhaegal coiled with tension beneath her.

In an impressively cool voice, Sansa said, “Give me one reason not to have you shot.”

Missandei made a show of glancing about her. “Where are your archers? I see none. Besides, Rhaegal’s scales are thick and my armor is strong. You will find no easy target here, as I have not come here unsuspecting, thinking myself safe under a banner of peace.”

_As your assassin did._

Sansa’s eyes narrowed at the thinly veiled reproach. “What do you want?”

Pitching her voice to carry, Missandei said, “I have a message for the people of Winterfell. I am not your enemy, and I want you to understand who really is. You did not want my people here, and you made that very clear from the start. We came to protect you and were met only with hostility. Yet even after you murdered our queen and tried to kill me, we did not retaliate. We could have razed your castle and everyone in it to the ground easily, but we departed peacefully. I say this not to intimidate you but to help you understand the danger you were put in by someone who should be protecting you. Twice Sansa Stark attempted to murder those under the protection of guest right, that most ancient and sacred of your laws. I swore to her that if any harm came to my people, I would reduce Winterfell to a pile of rubble. Knowing this, knowing full well the risk she took, she violated an oath sworn before your heart tree, before the gods your people have worshipped for thousands of years, not to antagonize us any further and tried to assassinate our queen, _again_. She knew that her scheming could cost you all your lives, yet she persisted in her folly for the sake of her own ambition. Even now, she has you building a throne-and for what? Your homes are destroyed, your storerooms empty, and your people dead on countless battlefields, and she demands a monument to her own vanity. People of Winterfell, you deserve better. Choose a leader who cares for you, who fights for you, not one who values your lives less than her own pride.”

Sansa sputtered with rage, and Missandei was not sure what was more satisfying: the flabbergasted expression on her face or the murmurings of the crowd. She did not know if they would heed her words, but Sansa would no longer have the authority to cause more harm to Missandei or her people.

Before she left, though, Missandei had a parting gift for the Lady of Winterfell.

Missandei fixed her gaze on that ugly wooden chair, and cried, “ _Dracarys!”_

She felt the flame building inside Rhaegal as though it blossomed in her own breast, and smiled as fire engulfed the ugly thing, reducing it to a pile of ash in seconds.

With that, she and Rhaegal took to the skies, leaving Tyrion and Sansa and all the rest behind. Missandei was finished with them all, and she was going back to her family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One thing that made me incredibly uncomfortable on the show was Tyrion's slavery apologism, and fandom's willingness to defend the Essosi slave trade and even talk about things like 'good slavers.' I don't care where you fall on the spectrum in terms of liking or disliking Dany, it's absolutely disgusting to say or think anything like that. Also the show/some parts of the fandom basically saying that the North's racism and xenophobia towards the Unsullied and Dothraki in general but especially Missandei was justified is also despicable. So this chapter conveyed my hot take that slavery is bad, anyone who enslaves people is evil and deserves to die, and you don't get to treat people differently because they're from another country. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you all for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	4. All you have is your fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I am so sorry for the long delay, but to make up for it, this chapter is EXTRA long! I also am trying something I saw in an excellent Avatar: the Last Airbender fic called 'everything I am', where each chapter starts off with a brief excerpt from a historical document or piece of literature written about the events covered in that chapter. Since Missandei aspires to write her memoirs, I thought it would be interesting to try doing something similar here! I'm going to do it for this chapter, so please let me know what you think, if people like it I will go back and do it for the previous chapters, and continue with it going forward!
> 
> Full disclaimer: Ironborn culture as depicted here is a hodgepodge of book and show canon, with a healthy serving of 'shit I made up for plot purposes' thrown in there, so if anything doesn't make sense, that's why! The version of Euron seen here is the nonsense show discount Captain Jack Sparrow version, not the terrifying apocalyptic figure from the books.
> 
> Warning for dragon-on-human violence in this chapter (although honestly, if you're bothered by that, how have you gotten this far?)
> 
> Thank you to all the amazing readers, especially those of you who leaves kudos and comments, they make me so happy and inspire me so much, and I appreciate all of you, especially luanabatista, CinnamonBurns, khalee_sica, Andreaa, kellanved, WhiteDragonWolf, Ali, angel897, VampAngel79, R'hllor, Daurian, Trashythekittykat, Stomborn, Morrika, Heyhinata, and LolaIsAwesome. 
> 
> Also a very special thanks to my amazing friends Squishy_Trex and bluebeholder, who are not ASOIAF/GOT fans but have helped me immensely with this fic and listened to me complain about Game of Thrones for literally years. Love you both!
> 
> Enjoy!

_Near their ancestral seat of Dragonstone, the Targaryen fleet was attacked by the Iron Fleet, captained by Euron Greyjoy. Vastly outnumbered, the Targaryen forces, led by Queen Yara, fought bravely, yet it was not enough. Her defeat seemed imminent as her uncle Euron overwhelmed her smaller fleet. For a few moments, he thought victory within his grasp…but only for those few moments, before three shadows fell over the ships and roars filled the air. The dragons had come, and Euron would learn that even krakens burned._

_-An excerpt from the memoirs of Missandei Dragonspeaker, the Protector of Innocents, the Bringer of Justice, the Lady of Ten Thousand Tongues, and the Dragon of Naath_

* * *

Not far from White Harbor, a great shadow passed over Missandei and Rhaegal; she looked up and saw Viserion flying above them, chirping in greeting. As she urged Rhaegal higher to meet his brother in the air, Viserion flew down to meet them, and the two dragons raced back to the camp. Viserion had always been the smallest of his brothers, and it was even more apparent now, as they had continued growing while he was held in bondage by the Night King. Yet he was faster than Rhaegal, moving through the air with great agility, and Missandei hoped it would be enough to keep him safe when they fought the Ironborn.

 _Do not think on that now_ , Missandei told herself firmly. _Focus on the joy when it comes and do not let the future taint it._

Viserion continued to fly out over the water, but Rhaegal landed beside Drogon, who was dozing in the grass, his wings spread out in an attempt to catch as much sunlight as possible.

Rhaegal bent his shoulder towards the ground, allowing Missandei to easily slide off his back and land on her feet. Her muscles ached from the long hours spent in the air, but to Missandei the discomfort was almost sweet, because this was the soreness of a dragonrider. After spending all day in the sky, it felt strange to be on the ground again.

She stroked Rhaegal’s face and murmured praise in a hodgepodge of Valyrian, Dothraki, and the Common Tongue. He preened under her attentions, purring like a cat, and she pressed a kiss to his great scaly nose. With a final happy trill, he turned towards his brother.

Next to Drogon were the smoking remains of some massive, half-consumed thing-a seal, perhaps? He was no longer eating it himself, but when Rhaegal poked at it inquisitively, Drogon lifted his head and growled.

“Drogon! Share with your brother,” Missandei chastised the dragon gently, “He’s had a long flight, and your mother won’t be pleased to know she has greedy sons.”

Suitably chastened, Drogon heaved a great dramatic sigh and let his head fall back to the ground, gazing at Missandei with such obvious self-pity that she could not help but laugh.

Not wanting Drogon to sulk too much, she patted him and thanked him for being such a good brother, then left the two dragons to their meal.

Grey Worm was waiting for her at the edge of the field, within eyeshot of the dragons but still a good distance away. He was more comfortable around them than any man living, now that Jorah was gone, but he did not approach them without Missandei or Daenerys.

Upon seeing her, he ran towards her, not a full sprint but faster than she expected, as if he could not wait any longer to see her, even though she had only been gone for a few hours.

She removed her helmet and smiled at Grey Worm, noticing the strange expression on his face-relief and fear, and desperate, almost frantic love.

Wordlessly he pulled her into his arms, lifting her off her feet despite the heavy armor she wore, and pressed his face against her neck. She could feel his lips moving against her skin, as if he was speaking, but there were no words for her to hear. He was holding her tight, tighter than he had even after the battle at Winterfell or the failed assassination attempt, as though afraid she would be snatched away from him.

For a moment Missandei wondered what could have inspired this in him, but then she remembered her conversation with Daenerys the night before: she had made her friend promise to tell Grey Worm that she was with child, and it seemed that she also decided to tell him about her vision. He knew about that other life where she had been taken from them, where he watched her die, helpless to save her. The life where he was left alone in the world, forced to go on after losing his family one by one.

“Daenerys told you?” She asked, caressing his face, her heart aching for him. There was no weapon that could harm Grey Worm more surely than the thought of failing to protect the people he loved.

“Yes. Everything.” He set her down, fury blazing in his eyes. “If I see any of them again-Tyrion or Varys, that wretch Jon Snow-I will kill them. I should have done it a long time ago but I will not make that mistake again. By the Lady of Spears they will die if they cross my path.”

“I know,” she said, simply. It seemed inadequate, but if there were words to relieve that awful sense of helplessness that came with knowing that in another life, you had lost everything, Missandei did not know them. So she just held him, letting him feel her alive and safe and whole in his arms, reassuring himself that that other life would never be.

Later they returned to the camp and searched for Daenerys, as Missandei wanted to tell her what she had done. They entered Daenerys’s tent to find her and Vorri, deep in a passionate yet hushed argument.

Vorri threw up her hands in exasperation, and said in quiet, rapid Dothraki, “Why do you even ask me for advice if you don’t intend to listen to it? A woman with child going to war! I have never heard such foolishness.”

Daenerys shot back, “Dothraki women ride until they give birth, how is this any different?”

Despite the accent she had never quite lost, Daenerys spoke with impressive fluency for someone who learned the language later in life, and Missandei was quite proud.

Beside her, Grey Worm looked utterly puzzled; his Dothraki was serviceable but certainly not up to understanding this furious, lightning-quick exchange.

“They ride horses, not dragons, and not into battle!” Vorri retorted with a huff, before noticing Missandei and Grey Worm standing there and continuing, “Missandei! Did you know about this? Did you know that this ridiculous girl plans to fly to battle with a baby in her belly?”

Missandei switched to Valyrian for Grey Worm’s benefit. “Yes, I did. It isn’t ideal, but this battle is inevitable, and when it comes there will be no safer place for Daenerys than on Drogon’s back. Besides, Rhaegal and I will be there to make sure she doesn’t do anything too risky.”

Her last sentence was spoken half in jest, but apparently reassured Vorri nonetheless.

In a stern voice, she said, “Very well. Daenerys, I will find something you can take for the pain that will not harm the baby. But you must promise me you will not do anything _too_ rash, besides going to war, of course. No more assassination attempts or tumbles off your dragon’s back, do you hear me? My old heart cannot take much more of this nonsense.”

With surprising humility, Daenerys nodded. “Yes, _kristasof_. I swear it.”

Missandei thought she saw a hint of a smile cross Vorri’s stern face at the word-it literally meant ‘grandmother’, but was used as a term of respect and affection for older women-but she said nothing as she left.

Daenerys flopped back onto her pallet and gave an almost comical sigh of relief. “Thank you, Missandei. I know she is right but it’s not as though I intended for any of this to happen!”

Sitting down next to her, Missandei smiled. “My only regret is that she did not give Sansa Stark a piece of her mind before we left Winterfell. Truly, I think that Vorri could have convinced the Night King to turn around and take his army back north of the Wall!”

They ate outside Daenerys’s tent as Missandei told them what she had done at Winterfell. Both approved: Missandei had undermined Sansa’s political legitimacy and ability to cause them harm, without creating any fresh conflict with the Starks.

Grey Worm and Daenerys were eating whole roasted fish, something Missandei found even less appetizing than other meat. She tried not to watch too closely as Daenerys tore into the fish with her teeth, spitting out the fine pin bones, and instead focused on her own bowl of stewed vegetables and Grey Worm’s update on his plans for their armor.

Abruptly, he rose and reached out to Daenerys. “Give it to me and I will get the bones out.”

She looked amused. “There’s no need, Grey Worm, I know how to eat fish!”

“Vorri was right, you need to be more careful,” He shook his head and said firmly, “You could choke. Not safe for the babe.”

Both Missandei and Daenerys burst into laughter, not the derisive glee they had heard so much of at Winterfell, but genuine joy at seeing this hardened warrior fussing like a doting grandparent over a child.

“Grey Worm, I appreciate your care, but this child was with me when I fought the dead, and will fly against the Ironborn soon, I do not believe a fish will harm her,” Daenerys said, her eyes twinkling with mirth.

Yet there was still something serious in Grey Worm’s voice. “I cannot protect you in war, I must leave that up to the gods and Drogon. But I can do this. So let me.”

His words hit their mark, and Daenerys acquiesced, handing over the fish. Grey Worm continued to speak about the armor, giving Daenerys pieces of the freshly deboned fish as he went.

Once he was finished with it, Missandei teased, “My love, I find it difficult to eat this stew unaided. Could you assist me?”

Daenerys giggled, and Grey Worm was smiling as he pulled her onto his lap, encircling her in his arms and taking her food.

Missandei leaned back against his chest and let him poke around the bowl with the spoon, as if inspecting it for threats. 

Pressing a kiss to her cheek, he said, “It should be safe now.”

Daenerys asked if Grey Worm intended to inspect the dragons’ food as well, and they all burst out laughing against. It felt strange, to be joking as though they were ordinary people, yet Missandei felt as though her heart would burst with joy.

 _This is the life we will have when all the wars are done,_ she promised herself. _When the slavers are dead and the world is free, this is what we will have._

Yara Greyjoy arrived at their camp the next day, accompanied by a few dozen Ironborn, each looking more hardened than the last. Missandei went to greet her with Daenerys, making sure to bring the small vessel containing ashes collected from the pyre on which Theon had burned.

“Queen Daenerys.” Yara said in her usual frank tone, looking the other woman up and down appraisingly. “Were you truly killed? From what I’ve heard, you should be dead twice over.”

Daenerys shrugged and said, matter-of-factly, “See for yourself.”

She turned her back towards Yara and shrugged her vest off her shoulders, arms raised to cover her breasts. Yara reached out and brushed her hair to the side, revealing the two wounds on her back. The injury sustained at Winterfell was more advanced in its healing, yet was no less grim than the arrow wound. Daenerys would carry two large, ugly scars for the rest of her days, but considering that these clearly should have been mortal wounds, it was a small price to pay.

“What is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger,” Yara murmured approvingly.

As Daenerys redressed, Missandei stepped forward and offered her Theon’s ashes. “I apologize from the bottom of my heart that we were not able to bring you your brother’s body. I tried to prevent his burning but was unable to. I know that this is a small consolation beside your terrible loss, but I hope that giving his ashes to the sea will bring you some measure of peace.”

She accepted the small urn, and Missandei caught the glimmer of tears in the other woman’s eyes. Yet she did not cry, just grasped Missandei’s forearm with a callused hand, a gesture she instinctively mirrored. Yara squeezed her arm with surprising gentleness, which Missandei reciprocated, remembering that this was a gesture of respect in the Iron Islands.

Her voice was rough yet firm. “He died too far from the sea. But thank you for returning him to me.”

As they walked towards the great sandsilk tent of the _dosh khaleen_ to plan their course of action against Euron, Daenerys explained to Yara that she would be returning to Essos, and had no intention of pressing her claim to the Iron Throne any further. She promised that they would continue on as allies, if Yara wished it, and asked what her intentions for the North were.

Yara’s face hardened. “The Starks took _everything_ from me. My elder brothers fell in battle against them, Theon was taken by them to serve as a hostage and died to protect them, and my mother became lost to me in her grief. Even in death, they stole my baby brother from me. I will keep my word and shall not rape or reave, but I will make every last Stark I can get my hands on pay for what they have done.”

“And you will have my support, if you need it,” Daenerys said lightly. Missandei was glad that Daenerys had not decided to pursue a blood feud with the Starks, but clearly she was not planning to forget their misdeeds entirely.

Daenerys had not officially created a new council, but the one that had formed after her death continued to function: Missandei and Grey Worm, some Unsullied officers, Temno and Okho, and Vorri. Now, joined by Yara and a few of her most trusted captains, they gathered around a makeshift table covered by a map of Dragonstone and its surroundings. While they waited for Yara’s arrival, Grey Worm and Daenerys had labored over it together, recreating the island and the likely whereabouts of the Iron Fleet as best they could from Daenerys’s vision. Of course they could not be certain that Euron would behave exactly as he had in that other life, but it was better than nothing.

Grey Worm had carefully marked Euron’s position, concealed behind a curve in the island’s coastline, drawing a small x to represent each ship. As far as Daenerys could recall, they had been ambushed by at least half a hundred ships, many of which were armed with scorpions.

As Grey Worm briefly explained the map and the scorpions to Yara, she studied it closely, then asked, “How did you decide to place his fleet there? For that matter, how can you be certain that he’ll be waiting for us in the first place?”

Daenerys and Missandei had agreed that no one besides themselves and Grey Worm could know of her vision, so thankfully Daenerys had a ready answer.

“We cannot be certain, of course, but it seemed likely. Last we knew the Iron Fleet was in King’s Landing, only a short journey from Dragonstone, and it seems unlike Cersei to not take advantage of our absence. And Euron knows we will be coming from the north, so concealing himself in that bay was logical. What do you think?”

After a few moments of deep thought, Yara nodded, apparently satisfied. “Aye, I agree. But if your estimate of the number of his ships is right, which I believe it is, how can you hope to retake the island when your fleet is so much smaller? Even with the dragons…if only one has a rider, how will you control the others so the whole fleet doesn’t burn?”

For the first time, Missandei spoke. “Two riders.”

“What?” Yara shot her a look, and out of the corner of her eye, Missandei could see Daenerys smiling.

“Two of the dragons have riders. Rhaegal is my mount, and I will be flying with him.”

Yara’s puzzled look morphed into one of appreciation. “Excellent. I hope I can see the look on my uncle’s face when he realizes there are three dragons in the air. He’ll likely piss himself.”

Daenerys laughed and chimed in, “I would quite like to see that myself. And Viserion will know not to attack any of our ships, even without a rider. It would not do to repay your loyalty by burning a fleet that is yours by right. If we burn the Silence, will the others surrender?”

Yara shook her head emphatically. “You cannot burn my uncle’s ship. The Ironborn will not follow me if you kill him for me. He murdered my father and took me captive. Honor demands that I kill him myself.”

“Very well. But he owes us a debt that can only be paid in fire and blood, and I intend to collect in full.”

Daenerys’s fingers tightened on the edge of the table as she spoke, and Missandei saw surprise register on Yara’s face. Of course, Yara must think that Daenerys was referring to the murders of Ellaria Sand and her daughters-which were grievous, of course, but not the true source of Daenerys’s deep loathing of Euron Greyjoy. In that other life he had shot Rhaegal out of the sky and put Missandei in chains to drag her to her death in King’s Landing. And although he would not have the opportunity to carry out those foul deeds in this lifetime, Missandei and Daenerys intended to make him pay for his sins.

“My uncle is evil but he is no fool. He knows that if his ships remain close to one another, it will be risky for you to attack from the air. But if we engage him in battle and force him to draw his ships out of formation, then it would be easier for the dragons to destroy the scorpions and me to board the Silence and kill him. But he will not break if he thinks there is any chance the dragons might attack, so we must give him an incentive.” Yara sounded contemplative, as though they were discussing strategy for a game of cyvasse and not a matter of life and death.

“A prize worth risking his life for. Something he was denied, something that he covets greatly.” Vorri muttered, shooting a pointed look at Daenerys.

“Precisely. We must convince him that Daenerys is aboard her flagship, not mounted on Drogon. Once he takes the bait and tries to capture her, we can end him.”

Silence fell over the group as they all tried to come up with a solution. Missandei’s gaze fell on Daenerys and Vorri, standing near one another and bending over the table to examine the map, identical long silver plaits falling over their shoulders, and an idea began to form in her mind.

When she shared her plan, the others reacted with various degrees of enthusiasm. Vorri agreed readily, as did the _kos_ and Grey Worm. Daenerys was apprehensive, if only because she did not relish the idea of others risking their lives for her, but Vorri told her in no uncertain terms that it was her choice, not Daenerys’s or anyone else’s. 

It was Yara who took the most convincing. She cast a skeptical look at Vorri. “It would be dangerous. Are you willing to risk your life for this?”

She did not speak unkindly, but something went sharp in Vorri’s eyes as she drew herself up, standing straight and tall.

“Child, when your father’s father was still too young to ride, I had crossed the Great Grass Sea a dozen times. I have planned campaigns all over Essos and ruled the _dosh khaleen_ since you were nothing but a whisper in your mother’s belly. I was daughter, wife, and mother to _khals_ , _khaleesi_ to the Great Khal Mengo, and I have traveled across the world to guide my queen and our people. I fear nothing.”

The day before their departure, Missandei and Daenerys decided to spend some time with the dragons, as they would not be of any particular use in the final preparations of their ships. Daenerys and Drogon had gone off on a flight, accompanied by Viserion, but Missandei and Rhaegal were dozing together, relaxing in a rare patch of sunlight.

A man’s voice, calling her name, interrupted her nap, and Missandei stood up, looking around. Beside her, Rhaegal stirred, but she whispered to him that all was well when she saw that it was only Okho. Straightening her skirts, she made her way towards him.

Okho was waiting for her at a safe distance, holding what appeared to be…dead rabbits? Even at this distance she could see the grin on his face.

Once she was close enough to speak normally, she gestured at his strange burden and asked, “What are those?”

Barely able to contain his mirth, Okho responded, “Ah, it seems that Grey Worm may have a rival for your heart, Dragonspeaker. One of my young riders, Fonno, wanted to make a gift of them to you, but was too nervous to approach you directly. He asked me to present them to you and tell you that you are the most beautiful woman in the world, and he would be honored if you would share his tent tonight.”

Missandei stared, aghast and uncertain of how to react. She wracked her brain trying to recall Fonno, but could not remember him, if they had ever interacted at all. It was common knowledge that Grey Worm was her partner in all things; did this young man truly believe he could woo her away?

“Thank you, Okho. Please tell him that I appreciate his kindness but am…satisfied with my current sleeping arrangements. In the future, perhaps he could honor me by giving his trophies to the poor and hungry, but you may keep the rabbits for your trouble.”

He laughed good-naturedly. “I can do that, Dragonspeaker. I did not come just to court you on Fonno’s behalf, there is a messenger from Winterfell here, saying he will only speak with you or the _khaleesi_ , so I decided to fetch you.”

A messenger from Winterfell? Missandei wondered what possible reason Jon or Sansa or anyone else there would be trying to contact them, but when Okho led her back to the camp and presented the messenger to her, she was pleasantly surprised by who she saw.

“Ser Davos!” Missandei exclaimed, unable to keep a smile from her face. Despite all that had passed between her people and the Westerosi, she would never forget his kindness or his welcoming nature. “This is unexpected but most welcome. Are you well?”

He grinned back. “I am, thank you. I think my horse could follow the road from Winterfell to White Harbor blindfolded, we’ve made the trip so many times in the past few weeks!”

“Well, I hope that he will let you take a well-deserved rest after this.” She laughed.

He chuckled warmly. “From your lips to the king’s ears, milady. And yourself? I heard you’ve had quite an interesting time yourself. From Winterfell to White Harbor, people are speaking about this new dragonrider.”

Although she was secretly quite pleased at the thought of her deeds being well-known, she only smiled knowingly.

“I am well, Ser. What brings you to White Harbor?”

“My king wished to inform Queen Daenerys that Varys no longer serves as his advisor, and that he executed Varys upon his return to Winterfell.”

Davos spoke so plainly that it took Missandei a moment to grasp what he had said. “Jon executed him? Why?”

“For attempting to poison the queen and her unborn child in Essos some years ago. Your queen pardoned him for that past offense, as was her right, but King Jon does not have such a forgiving nature. He will not be served by a man who would kill an innocent girl.”

Daenerys must have told Jon that during their recent meeting, otherwise she could not imagine that he would have allowed Varys to enter his service in the first place. Missandei thought that if Jon believed that Daenerys and Rhaego were the only innocents that Varys had attempted to harm during his long career of manipulation, he was even more naïve than she previously suspected, and she could not find it in herself to feel any grief for Varys. She would save those tears for people who had not ruined countless lives with their schemes.

“As proof of his word, my king sent Varys’s head for the queen to examine at her leisure.” He grabbed a sack off the ground and thrust it towards, as though expecting her to take it, and Missandei cringed. Why did men keep trying to hand her dead things today?

Gingerly she accepted it, then passed it off to Okho, who stood nearby. “Thank you, Ser. I will pass it along to her.”

For all that the Westerosi called her people savages, they certainly had a brutal streak that would not be out of place in the harshest corners of Essos.

Davos continued, “There have been other changes as well. Tyrion Lannister resigned his position on King Jon’s council, and has departed Winterfell to return south. I believe he hopes to take advantage of the chaos there to reclaim Casterly Rock.”

Somehow that did not surprise Missandei in the slightest. Tyrion’s loyalties were to himself, not to anyone or anything, and Varys’s death gave him a convenient excuse to distance himself from Jon’s struggling kingship.

But what Davos said next did shock her, just a little.

“He was accompanied by his wife Lady Sansa.”

“What?” It was true that Sansa and Tyrion had seemed rather cozy during their time at Winterfell, but she did not think Sansa would be willing to leave the North for anything.

His tone changed again, from neutrality to something touched by disappointment and sorrow. “King Jon loves his sister, but in sending an assassin after your queen, she broke a sacred vow sworn before a heart tree and undermined his direct order. If it were anyone else, he would have taken their head and been done with it, but you know as well as I that he would never harm his kin.”

Missandei did not think that, knowing as she did that Jon had murdered Daenerys in her vision, but instead she said, with careful politeness, “Of course. But why would she leave to follow Lord Tyrion? Surely it would make more sense for her to join her mother’s family in the riverlands or the Vale.”

Sansa Stark could go to the Vale or King’s Landing or throw herself off the ruins of the Wall for all Missandei cared, but she did want to be aware of the location of her enemies.

“Oh,” Davos said, his brow furrowing. “You don’t know. I suppose it did happen after you left. Well, the day you departed from Winterfell, King Jon and his siblings went into the godswood to discuss what you and Queen Daenerys said, after her resurrection. I wasn’t there, but the king told me after that his sister denied any responsibility in the attempt on your life and the queen’s murder, and swore her vow then, on his request. But their brother Bran asked if Sansa planned to tell Jon about her involvement in her aunt’s death, and told Jon that she had lied to conceal Littlefinger’s murder of her aunt and thus seize power in the Vale.”

Missandei’s jaw dropped. She was not as familiar with Westerosi customs and politics as she could be, it was true, but she knew how grievous Sansa’s actions were. Breaking a sacred oath, defying her king, violating guest right, and now, at the very least being a kinslayer by proxy?

Davos continued, “That was why the Knights of the Vale left, they said they could no longer serve a woman who helped cover up the murder of their lady. They have returned to their lands and made it clear that she is not welcome there. Her mother’s brother, who rules in Riverrun, has also disavowed her. And she was not popular with the people of Winterfell, particularly not after your visit. So when King Jon returned to Winterfell and cast her out as an oathbreaker, she had nowhere else to go.”

Despite herself, Missandei felt a little shaken at this news of Sansa’s rapid downfall. She cared nothing for the woman, but she did not like to see anyone humiliated or suffering.

“Thank you for the information, Ser Davos. I must ask, however, why your king sent you all the way to White Harbor to deliver this news?”

Davos gave a deep sigh. “He wants Queen Daenerys to change her mind and stay in Westeros. He hopes that this will prove his devotion to her, though I told him that she seems to have already made up her mind.”

And Davos was right, even if Jon was unwilling or unable to see it. These actions were all well and good, but it was too little, too late.

After commanding that Davos be fed a good meal, they exchanged farewells, wishing the other good fortune, and Missandei extracted a promise that Davos would send word if he ever found himself in Essos.

Just as he was mounting his horse to depart, she remembered something she had been meaning to tell him, even before Viserion and Daenerys had been resurrected.

“Thank you for lying about what Jon said, about Viserion. I don’t know what would have happened if you had not interfered, and you didn’t have to do it.”

Davos smiled fondly at the golden dragon flying in lazy circles over the harbor. “It was the right thing to do.”

When Daenerys returned that evening, Missandei shared what Davos had told her. As she predicted, Daenerys reacted to the news with sorrow, perhaps some regret at what could have been, but she remained set in her decision. Nothing Jon could do now would keep Daenerys in Westeros.

The morning of their departure from White Harbor, Missandei rose before the sun along with the rest of her people. A strange buzz of anticipation seemed to hang over the camp as the final preparations were made, because even though everyone knew they would face a battle that day, at least they would finally be leaving Westeros.

She broke her fast with Grey Worm and Daenerys, who seemed to take his role as their caretaker very seriously. He coaxed Missandei into eating half a loaf of bread and some dried fruit, saying that she did not want to risk flying on an empty stomach. At his urging, Daenerys consumed several steaming cups of broth and the other half of the bread. Once they had eaten enough to satisfy him, he left while they dressed in similar outfits: trousers and long-sleeved tunics, with leather boots, light enough to fit under their armor but adequate to keep them warm.

With an ease that came from years of experience, they styled each other’s hair, Daenerys’s in a single plait strung with bells, Missandei’s in two long braids that would fit comfortably under her helmet. As always before a battle, neither of them spoke much, just enjoying the other’s presence while they still could.

Grey Worm returned with their armor and helped them into it, and in no time they were ready.

As they made their way to the harbor, they met the _dosh khaleen_ , led by Vorri, already dressed in her Daenerys disguise.

As confident as Vorri was, Missandei knew that the decoy would not hold up under close scrutiny. Vorri was taller than Daenerys, and their skin and features were quite different, but Missandei hoped that from a distance, all Euron would be able to see was a shock of bright silver hair. That combined with some strategic costuming-dressing Vorri in a bright white coat, to make her even more visible, and surrounding her on the deck with Unsullied guards-would hopefully be enough to trick their enemy.

The _dosh khaleen_ would be riding on Daenerys’s flagship, the _Balerion_ , and they were the first to board. Each of the women bade them farewell in turn, some with the traditional encouragement for warriors riding to battle- _Shieraki gori ha yeraan_ , the stars are charging for you-, others with more personal words, urging them to take care and return unharmed, until only Vorri was left.

The older woman surveyed them calmly, giving her approval of their armor and reminding them of the plan once more, as though they could possibly have forgotten. Then, quite unexpectedly, Vorri pulled them both into her arms and murmured in Dothraki, her voice choked with emotion, “Oh, you brave, foolish girls. Be safe.”

Stepping back, she composed herself, and without another word she marched briskly onto the ship, the bells in her hair chiming with every step, looking every inch the _khaleesi_ she was.

Together with the dragons, Missandei and Daenerys watched as the rest of their people boarded the ships that would take them home, the Dothraki leading their blindfolded horses up gangplanks and the Unsullied proceeding in their usual orderly fashion. 

Soon everyone was aboard except for Grey Worm, who lingered as long as he could. But finally Yara was calling for him to board, and he could delay no longer.

First he reminded them of the system they had devised to enable the ships to communicate with the dragons and their riders. Periodically he would sound a horn once, to let them know that all was well, and they were to respond with a call of their own-both of them had Dothraki horns strapped to their belts. When they sighted Euron’s fleet, he would blow the horn twice, indicating that the dragons needed to stay silent and above the clouds to avoid spoiling the trap. And when the horn blew three times, it was time for them to attack.

Missandei knew this backwards and forwards, as did Daenerys, but she knew it reassured Grey Worm to go over it one more time. Once he was finished, he embraced them each in turn. Missandei did not hear the words he and Daenerys exchanged, but when he took her into his arms, he murmured in Naathi, “Do not say goodbye, my heart. We will see each other again soon, and I know you will return to me unharmed.”

The emotions she had carefully been keeping in check all day surged up, and Missandei only managed to whisper back. “I will. Be safe, beloved.”

He kissed her, soft and sweet and so full of love that part of her wanted to grab him and haul him atop Rhaegal, refusing to be parted by anyone or anything. But they each had their own roles to play, and so when he pulled away to board the ship, she let him.

And then it was just her and Daenerys. There were no words left for her to say, so all Missandei could do was hug her friend and trust that this would not be their end. For a moment she and Daenerys lingered in each other’s arms before they separated and mounted their dragons.

Viserion took off first, followed by Drogon and then Rhaegal. As White Harbor receded into the distance, Missandei glanced back one final time, wanting to get a last glimpse of the North. So much had happened since she first set foot in this strange land that had caused her so much fear, so much pain: the battle, the bigotry of the people of Winterfell, losing Daenerys and nearly losing her own life. Yet there had been joy too: Viserion and Daenerys’s resurrection, her bond with Rhaegal. For good and ill, the North had certainly left its mark on her, and even though she hoped she would never return, Missandei also knew that she would never forget it.

They flew for hours above a seemingly endless vista of clouds. It was beautiful, watching the sun rise from so high up in the sky, but Missandei scarcely noticed it, waiting for the sound of Dothraki horns. Every once in a while, there would be a single call, and she and Daenerys would wait, breathless, to hear if it would sound again. When it wasn’t blown again, one of them would respond with their own horn, letting the fleet knew that they understood.

And then, it finally happened. A horn sounded below them, and an instant later, a second blast came. Euron’s fleet had been sighted, so the dragons needed to stay quiet and above the clouds. Missandei had no doubt that they could defeat the Iron Fleet even without the element of surprise-after all, in her vision Daenerys and Drogon had destroyed it alone-but this plan would minimize the loss of life.

It would work, Missandei knew it would, but for now they just needed to be patient.

As they flew in silence, she realized that her hands were trembling where they gripped Rhaegal’s spines-not from the cold or fear, but some strange combination of anticipation and apprehension.

She knew she should be afraid-she could be hurt or killed, and for the first time, her actions would lead to the deaths of others.

For so much of her life, she had survived at the whims of others, from the slavers who had abducted her from Naath and various masters, up to Kraznys. Even once Daenerys freed her, her safety was dependent on those around her-Grey Worm and the other Unsullied, Daario and Jorah.

But now, she controlled her fate. Euron and his ships, who would have stolen her from the people she loved, put her in chains, and delivered her to death, would be destroyed today at her own hand.

Again the horn blew-once, twice, and then…a third call.

It was time.

Missandei looked over at Daenerys, and although she was too far away to see her friend’s face, she knew that it likely bore the same expression as her own: a little frightened, perhaps, but above all, calm and determined to do what must be done.

They exchanged nods, and Drogon dove out of sight. Missandei urged Rhaegal after him, and they plunged through the clouds, the cool moist air whipping against her face. Aside from the sound of the dragons’ wings and her own breathing, all was silent as the battle below came into view.

Their few ships were entirely encircled by the Iron Fleet and even at this distance Missandei could tell that they were engaged in fearsome combat. She was no expert on nautical warfare, but it was evident that their forces were fighting a losing battle.

Yet she heard no cries of alarm at their approach, and no scorpion bolts were launched into the sky.

It was just as Yara predicted. None of Euron’s men realized what was happening, so absorbed were they in fighting her forces.

Despite everything, she smiled. In that other life, Euron had taken them by surprise, but now he would be the one caught unawares.

The trap was sprung, and the dragons were among them.

Just as Daenerys had said, the scorpions were easily visible from above, even in the tumult of battle, and Missandei fixed her gaze on the nearest ship with one. Even unloaded and unmanned, the machine gleamed with a quiet menace, hungry for dragon blood.

Tyrion would have been horrified that she and Daenerys intended to burn as much of the Iron Fleet as they had to, holding back only for Yara’s sake. What would he have counseled them to do? Ask Euron politely to stop raping and slaving, and hope he didn’t shoot them out of the sky, just to protect the lives of men who made a career out of committing atrocities?

Missandei wondered which scorpion had murdered Rhaegal in that other life, and how many countless people had been enslaved or killed by the Iron Fleet in this one. She wondered which ship had captured her, which crew had put her in chains and taken her to die at the hands of Tyrion’s precious sister.

She would never know. But she would ensure that they would never harm anyone else again.

As the shadow of Rhaegal’s wings fell across the ship, the Ironborn aboard froze and cried out in shock. Some of the more enterprising among them made for the scorpion, but it was too late.

The dragons had come, and death was already upon them.

Circling around the ship, barely able to hear over her pounding heart, Missandei called out, “ _Dracarys!”_

Flame poured from Rhaegal’s mouth, and the men attempting to arm the scorpion crumbled into ash. The others panicked, some trying to put out the fire raging on the deck, others abandoning ship and leaping into the sea.

As they passed over the burning ship, Rhaegal swung his tail, smashing it in two and roaring.

His brothers answered, Viserion’s higher screech and Drogon’s unmistakable bellow, and a great cheer went up from the Targaryen forces.

Rhaegal wove between ships, bathing every ship with a scorpion in fire. Missandei kept him low, close enough to the water that it would be difficult for a scorpion bolt to hit them. In truth they were moving too fast for an archer to have a clear shot, much less the crew of men it took to aim a scorpion.

Not that it didn’t stop some from trying, even with fire and death consuming their comrades.

As men launched arrows and spears at them, Rhaegal twisted and spun in the air, shielding her so that the projectiles bounced harmlessly off his scales, just as they had practiced. She pressed herself close to his back, making herself as small a target as possible, and tried to stay focused. Grey Worm and Daenerys had spoken to her of the uncertainty that could overcome you in battle, how easy it was to become immersed in the chaos and lose sight of the greater strategy, and she found herself struggling not to succumb to that. Even from her vantage point atop Rhaegal, to Missandei the world seemed to shrink to what was in front of her, nothing more and nothing less.

But through her bond with Rhaegal, she was still aware of Daenerys and the other dragons, knowing somehow where they were without looking, feeling their exhilaration and fear along with her own. Something tugged at her, a prickle of unease, and she turned her head to see a scorpion being aimed towards Viserion, who was attacking another ship, apparently unaware of the danger. For an instant her blood ran cold.

But before she could cry out in warning, before Rhaegal could fly towards him, Drogon was there, dropping down onto the ship and tearing the scorpion from its deck with his claws. Viserion wheeled around to join his brother, and within moments the ship was destroyed.

The incident reminded her of their greater purpose, to engage the Ironborn long enough for Yara to kill her uncle, and Rhaegal flew higher, allowing Missandei to search for their ally.

She spotted Yara on the deck of the _Balerion_ , locked in fierce combat with her wretched uncle. Yara did not fight with the utter restraint of the Unsullied, for whom every movement calculated and strategic; she was wild and flamboyant, twisting and darting about as she dodged Euron’s blade.

Yet there was something graceful and beautiful in her chaos, a strange elegance that held Missandei’s attention even as Yara pulled an ax from her belt and planted it between her uncle’s eyes.

It happened so fast that Missandei did not register what had happened until he collapsed to the deck, undeniably dead. Yara bent down and hacked off his head, holding it up for all to see, and around her on the Balerion the Ironborn cast down their weapons and knelt. Beside Yara Missandei caught a glimpse of Grey Worm, unharmed, and her heart sang with joy.

Though others on the nearest ships saw what had happened and began to surrender, others did not, and Missandei realized she needed to find a way to get the attention of Euron’s men and convince them to surrender, ideally without destroying more of Yara’s new fleet. Landing Rhaegal on a half-burned hulk floating on the edges of the battle, she shouted, “Surrender! Euron is dead! Cast down your weapons and you will live!”

To her frustration, no one seemed to notice or heed her words.

Suddenly something struck her on the back of her head, _hard_ , and for an instant she saw stars.

 _An arrow,_ she realized, _Someone tried to shoot me in the head._

But thankfully the helmet had protected her, though she felt a wave of dizziness as Rhaegal spun beneath her towards the man who shot her. Lunging forward, faster than a striking snake, he snatched the archer off his ship and tossed him into the air. The man’s shriek was abruptly cut off as Rhaegal hit him with a blast of fire, then caught him in his great maw, swallowing him as though he was no larger than a fish.

He gave a furious roar that Missandei felt in her very bones, tearing through her chest as if it had come from her own mouth, and all those fighting around her stopped to stare in wonder and fear.

“Your king is dead, now kneel or burn!” 

This time, they heard her, and there was a great clattering as scores of Ironborn dropped their weapons to the decks of their ships and went to their knees. Like a wave crashing over a beach, one by one the surviving Ironborn surrendered to their new queen and her allies.

It was over. They had won.

Euron Greyjoy was dead and Rhaegal was alive. Euron Greyjoy was dead and Missandei was _free_. The other life Daenerys had lived in her vision was slipping away as surely as Euron’s blood dripped into the sea, and would never come to fruition.

As Rhaegal and his brothers sang their victory and her people cheered around her, Missandei tipped her head back and laughed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's a wrap on The Waking! I have already started working on the sequel, though I can't make any promises about when it will be posted. However, the sequel does have a title, 'The Rising', so I would recommend subscribing to the series so you'll be notified when I post it. 
> 
> Also, how transparently obvious is it that I love Yara/Asha? Hopefully it wasn't too much, I wanted to give her the badass moments she was robbed of on the show! 
> 
> Thank you all again for reading and your amazing feedback, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter and that all is well with you!!!

**Author's Note:**

> So this chapter had a lot of talking, which hopefully you all didn't mind too much, but fear not, there is action coming up! Dragon riding and battles and all kinds of fun stuff!
> 
> I am completely obsessed with this piece of art, which was drawn after Missandei and Rhaegal were senselessly killed in the season that shall remain nameless. As you all know, I have completely rejected that as canon, so instead I choose to believe that this depicts a very happy and alive Missandei with her equally alive and happy mount, Rhaegal.
> 
> https://polar-biscuit.tumblr.com/post/184950758860/im-suddenly-team-targaryen-maybe
> 
> Thank you again for reading and for all your wonderful support, and I really hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!


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